


All I want for Christmas...

by Winterwasp



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Christmas fic, Gen, angsty, with a bit of fluff at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterwasp/pseuds/Winterwasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-AFFC Modern Christmas AU. Sansa goes out to sing Christmas carols with her friends, she ends up on the porch of an old acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I had this idea for a Christmas fic, that somehow morphed into something a lot more angsty than I first envisioned, because apparently I cannot write fanfiction with no-canon-attached. So it became a post-AFFC Modern Christmas AU, with a bit of fluff at the end. 
> 
> I am not an experienced writer, and that will probably show. English is not my first language. If you spot any mistakes, don’t hesitate to tell me via review or PM, concrit of the story is of course also heartily welcomed. Or if you just wanna express the feelings this fic stirred, be it love or hate or boredom, let me know :3 
> 
> All rights belong to George R.R. Martin

“ _I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come true, Baby, all I want for Christmas is you. All I want for Christmas is you!_ ” they sang, ending the chorus and the Christmas song on a unison drawn-out loud note.

 

“Very lovely, ladies,” the old man on the threshold said radiantly, as he let slip some coins into the bag Margaery dangled in front of him. He gave them one last smile as he closed the door, ornamented on the front with a glowing star and a miniature plastic Santa Claus that was swinging because of the motion.

 

They were walking arm-in-arm and laughing as they continued through the slush on the sidewalk, while the daylight rapidly faded and the Christmas lights decorating the suburban houses started to glitter.

 

Margaery jingled with the silky red bag, which had a cartoonish reindeer stitched upon it. “I think we’re up to at least seventy, eighty golden dragons, after that last street.”

 

“I wonder how Dany and the others are doing,” Myranda said, toying with the plush white end of her Christmas hat, which swayed over her shoulders. “They were going to walk up to Visenya’s Hill, where all the posh people live.”

 

Sansa had swaddled most of her face with a grey woolen scarf and a matching knitted bonnet against the biting wind, but her cheeks and nose and ears had colored a scarlet red all the same. “Does it matter if they’re collecting more money than us?” she puffed as the cold turned her breath to white mist.

 

“Yes, it does,” Myranda responded smugly. “Anything to get the _Khaleesi_ off her high horse.”

 

“Your incorrigible, Randa,” Sansa chided her, good-humored.

 

“How can they beat us,” Margaery joined in, smiling, “ when we’ve got Sansa ‘heavenly voice’ Stark at our side?”

 

“You and Randa sing just as nice,” Sansa mumbled in response to the compliment. If she hadn’t already been red-faced, her blush would’ve revealed her embarrassment.

 

“Yeah, like two crows beside a nightingale,” Myranda laughed. “Anyway, my throat is getting parched again, and we ran out of coffee.” She jogged the canteen she was holding to punctuate her words, which produced the sound of faint sloshing.

 

“Maybe it’s time to get back,” Sansa said.

 

“What, we’re half an hour away from the nearest pub or cafe, lost in suburbia. I say we make the next house our last and put on the charm afterwards for some free drinks.”

 

Margaery agreed to Myranda’s plan, and Sansa gave a reluctant ‘okay’. She didn’t like the idea of intruding into some stranger’s house, but kept that thought unspoken, and berated herself for her irrational fear. Hadn’t she found out the hard way that danger was far more likely to come from the people you thought you knew?

 

They turned up the driveway to the next residence, a rather small one-story brick house, and conspicuously undecorated. “Maybe we should hit the next one?” Margaery queried her friends. “This place isn’t exactly displaying…festivity.”

 

Myranda pulled them forward. “They don’t participate in the Christmas spirit, doesn’t mean they’ll say no to charity. Or an honestly and with puppy eyes delivered request.”

 

“I don’t know, Randa-” Sansa was saying as her eyes darted to the dark windows of the house, but her friend went on unconcerned, and pushed the buzzer.

 

For a few moments the world was silent after the muffled buzz behind the door died down, and Sansa’s ears rung with her fluttering heartbeat. She hoped no one would answer the bell, and they could move on to a more inviting place.

 

“Well, seems like no one’s home-” Margaery began, when they heard faint noises signaling life.

 

“Gods, I can’t believe you two are such scaredy-cats,” Randa said. “I’ll do the introduction, alright?”

 

Sansa shuffled beside her friend, crossing her arms and tucking her gloved hands underneath for warmth. After another minute or so, they heard footsteps coming toward the door.

 

When it finally sidled open, they collectively looked up as a huge figure peaked out, his face hidden by darkness and tendrils of dark hair alike. “What is it you want?” the man asked with a rough voice.

 

Despite the rude welcome, Randa launched unperturbed into the talk. “Good evening and happy holidays, mister! I and my friends here are going round singing Christmas carols for the benefit of the King’s Landing Orphan Trust. We perform an extended list of Christmas songs you might like, evergreens and golden oldies, or something more recent if that’s more your thing. We only ask for a free monetary gift, that goes toward the care and education of the orphans of the Good Queen Alysanne Home. If you need proof of our good intentions, we have an official certificate from the Trust for your inspection…”

 

Sansa knew who was standing in the porch as soon as she heard his voice. _Sandor Clegane_. A quiver ran down her spine. _I haven’t seen him since..._

 

She stood fazed as Myranda chattered on. She tried to persuade herself that he wasn’t staring at her, that he couldn’t have recognized her in this darkness, standing on the only front yard in a mile radius that had no form of Christmas lights. But he did. He had spotted her just as she had him.

 

_What must he think? It’s been four years… no, I’m not the one who should feel embarrassed. He should. He mocked me, threatened me…Yet he was also the only one who seemed like he cared…_

“-if you’re not interested in a personal serenade, we would very much and deeply appreciate a small gift nonetheless.” Randa finished. She and Margaery looked expectantly at the man in the doorway, who had completely filled the frame. Now that light from the hall inside came through, his features were cast in ghastly shadows.

 

He turned his head towards her. “Hello, Sansa,” he said softly, confirming her observation.

 

She heard Myranda suck in what probably was the high-pitched squeal ‘you know each other?! How? When? Where?’, the reaction she always had at the ready whenever she ferreted out some new information about her friends and acquaintances, and Sansa felt grateful for her restraint. Margaery kept her calm composure without the slightest ripple in posture or face, a trait she had inherited from her grandmother.

 

“Hi, S-Sandor,” she said, stumbling over his name, the first time she ever let it roll off her tongue. Desperate to get a grip on the situation, Sansa decided to act like nothing special had happened. “Would you like me, I mean us, to sing a Christmas carol for you?” She almost bit her tongue because of the lapsus.


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I decided to post the final two chapters in one go. I had no idea what kind of Christmas song Sandor would like or want to hear, so I went with something he might’ve remembered fondly from his childhood 
> 
> All rights belong to George R.R. Martin

He snorted. A sound that tugged Sansa back to a time she’d rather leave behind her forever.

 

“Still a little bird, are you?” he said, his eyes glittering, crossing his arms. “Well, what have you on offer?” 

 

Margaery had also inherited a fine-tuned sense of situation assessment from her infamous grandmother, and cut in at the right moment to give Sandor a run-through of their repertoire. He kept his eyes on Sansa all the same.

 

“…and lastly, we deliver a great version of-”

 

“I’ll have that song,” he said suddenly.

 

“You will?” Sansa blurted out. She was sure he would’ve laughed them away.

 

“I’m serious, little bird. ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’, you said. Go on. Sing.”

 

Her friends eyed her for a reaction. She once again pulled herself together, and clapped her hands a bit too enthusiastic. “Alright then.” She gestured to Margaery and Randa, starting to intone the first words of the lyrics.

 

_“You better watch out, You better not cry_   
_You better not pout, I'm telling you why_   
_Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town,_   
_Santa Claus is coming to town_

_He's making a list, Checking it twice;_  
 _Gonna find out who's naughty or nice._  
 _Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town,_  
 _Santa Claus is coming to town_ ”

“ _Coming to town_.” They ended, Sansa on a whisper. He had closed his eyes during their upbeat chanting. In the dramatic electrical light his burns seemingly looked twice as worse as she remembered. When they fell completely silent, he opened his eyes again.

 

Sansa felt the urge to say something. Margaery beat her to it. “That was the song,” said she, and held up the silky bag.

 

He laughed, his rasping voice like metal-on-stone. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, girl? Let me get some cash to soothe your consciences.” Margaery’s smile didn’t move a muscle at his jeer. He turned away from the door.

 

“Wait!” Randa called. “Could we maybe get something to drink, too? We’re all parched. We won’t be long.” She understood intrinsically that Sandor would not be mollified by a puppy look, not _hers_ anyway.

 

“Sure. Come in.” He made a vague welcoming gesture, waving a large hand.

 

Margaery was the first to follow, then Myranda, then Sansa. Sandor locked the door behind her. She wanted to turn around and ask him - everything. She didn’t.

 

They entered an interior just as unassuming as the outside had been. A modest hall with a few cloth hangers, a low cupboard on which her friends had dumped gloves and hats, an opened door from which she spied a small living room with a mangy yellow sofa and a TV. At their noise, something moved on the sofa and Sansa realized it was a dog, lifting its head. A little whine escaped the animal, but he made no move to leave his berth.

 

Sansa made her way further to the back of the hall, where the kitchen was. The wallpaper looked like something from the ‘50’s, and there was a small red table with matching chairs, that would’ve looked in place at the local Dornish restaurant, which occupied a big chunk of the available space. Her friends stacked the money pouch and canteen unceremoniously on its gleaming surface. They had to huddle somewhat together because of the unambitious scale of the room. Sandor clumsily navigated through them to the counter, touching her arm lightly.

 

“I only have water, and coffee. No alcohol.” Sandor Clegane said curtly, crossing his arms again and leaning back. He wore plain blue jeans and a light blue shirt. His long dark hair hid the burned side of his face. His features were just as she remembered, though lines had appeared on his forehead – on the good side - , and his eyes seemed a bit more deep-set than she could recall. He still looked like the same Hound, yet at the same time his manifestation had morphed into something altogether different. _How did that happen?_ Her curiosity only grew. Where once an almost perpetual scowl had been etched, his face now exhibited an unfamiliar relaxation. The stormy grey hue of his eyes did not mirror a boundless anger anymore. His posture had lost most of its eternal hostility, and radiated only mild annoyance. And she was sure the twitch of the corner of his mouth belied a smile, not a growl. 

 

Randa made a face as if she had something to say about the limited range of choice in beverage, but kept quiet, just as Margaery, who had seated herself on one of the chairs. It hit Sansa then that they were waiting for her to speak up.

 

“Coffee is okay for us, right?” she said quickly. Her friends voiced their agreement. The atmosphere in the kitchen was a bit tense, the kind that almost occurs naturally when strangers, or semi-strangers, are brought together. 

 

“Good.” He turned, and fumbled with a coffee maker. She could see shoulder muscles flex beneath the shirt. _Still as impressive as ever._ She positioned herself beside Margaery, leaning against the wall, while Randa had commandeered the remaining chair. They were throwing curious looks her way and his, and continued with their uncharacteristic quietness. She would have a lot of explaining to do, when all this was over.

 

Soon enough the aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the kitchen. Sandor Clegane handled it methodically, opened a cabinet and grabbed four mugs, pouring out the hot dark liquid, offering one to them in turns, and settled back in his former position with a steaming cup of his own. No one asked for sugar or milk. In the quiet, she could hear the even rhythm of his breathing.

 

They all held their warm mugs in between clammy hands – three of them, at least. The rest of their visit was handled with short sentences and purposive body language. That was how Sansa found herself on the porch again, brimming with questions unanswered.

 

“We forgot the money and the canteen on the table,” Margaery noted as they refitted gloves and hats.

 

“I’ll go get them,” Sansa said hastily. “Just a moment.”


	3. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: final chapter, a.k.a the one with the actual Sansa/Sandor interaction. Hope it leaves you at least with some fuzzy warm feelings!
> 
> All rights belong to George R.R. Martin

Sandor was still in the kitchen, toweling off the washed cups above the sink. “Hi again.” _Come on Sansa, say something meaningful for once_ , she chided herself internally. “We, uh-”

 

“It’s good to see you again, little bird,” he rasped. “Good to see you hale and happy.”

 

She blushed at the sentiment. _A dog will die for you, but never lie to you_ , her mind echoed. “Thank you. I’m glad I got to meet you again too. I confess I was a bit…taken by surprise, at first. Stupefied, to be honest. I-,” she stopped for a moment to form appropriate sentences of the thoughts floating in her head. “The last rumors I heard of you… they said you’d died, in a raid…or got jailed for life, because of…various crimes you’d committed.”

 

His face stayed blank during her confession, and she hastened to add, “I didn’t believe it, I mean, that you would do _such_ things…”

 

“But you could believe I died a violent dead, couldn’t you?”

 

“…yes.”

 

“Can’t fault you for that. I nearly did,” he snorted. “I had the ill luck that a particularly bullheaded man stumbled over my near corpse and forced me back to health. And then continued to bug me into reforming my life in the light and benevolence of the gods.”

 

“He could keep his buggering gods,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, “but I realized not all of what he said was foolish bleating. So I got better, and decided I’d had enough of the Hound. He died the violent death he wished for, but I’m still here.” He looked at her during his speech, but after those last words, his gaze swerved down, focusing the empty mug he was holding in his right hand.

 

“I often wished you’d stayed. Even if the Hound was…not a nice person. You helped me nonetheless, during that horrible time.” 

 

“I wouldn’t call it help, little bird. I was no one’s hero. Just an angry man,” he said plainly, with just a small tinge of bitterness. 

 

She crossed the distance between them and laid a hand on his arm, which caused him to raise widened eyes to hers. “But you tried to save me all the same, and I’m grateful for that.” Sansa tried to convey her sincerity, steadily returning his gaze.

 

His hand engulfed the one she rested on his arm, and he released a long held-in breath.

 

“I see you shed some of your feathers,” he said after a long moment, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

They stayed like that for a few seconds, before they realized how close they were and both awkwardly retreated back into the safety of their personal space. Sansa felt the ever-damning blush set on once again, but this time she was not the only victim.

 

“I need to get back to my friends. They’re probably wondering why I’m taking so long.” She shuffled nervously. “If you want, we could get together some time later to talk more. Catch up.”

 

Despite the tentative contact and the confusing exchange of emotions that had just happened between them, he still sounded surprised by her proposition. “If you want.”

 

“Yes, I’d like that, very much.”

 

Sandor produced a cell phone from somewhere, they swapped numbers. She gathered her stuff, the bag and the thermos, from the table.

 

The awkwardness returned as she was truly leaving. She muttered a ‘bye’ and made for the hall.

 

Sansa returned a split second later. “Sandor?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Sansa.”


End file.
